Missing
by EleanorKate
Summary: A short trip into the future


The three year old, wrapped up in his scarf and duffel coat, trotted a few feet behind his father as they wound their way along the path, each side lined with Spring flowers just finding their way into bloom.

He hadn't intended to come here today, pushing the pram along Newby Place thinking of those days when this used to be his beat and, on each occasion that he passed, he had pulled on the padlock of the Church gate at night at the behest of Father Williams to ensure its safety. Now, as Sargeant Noakes, his days were spent in the station, but thankful all at the same time that it meant he had those nights were he could be at home rather than trawling the streets of Poplar again.

Behind him, the boy crouched down, a curious finger touching the petals of a purple crocus as it opened its eyes to the world.

"Fred!" he whispered in the quiet of the graveyard. "Come away and stay on the path".

The boy immediately and solemnly stepped away from the grass edge where he had started to wander. One thing he had always been grateful to Camilla for was that their eldest son knew the meaning of the word 'no'. Despite the drama of his birth, Frederick Peter Noakes had been a straightforward baby, a toddler with the jolliest laugh that often made them both break out in the widest smiles themselves, and now, becoming a little boy who listened to his Dad and for the most time did as he was told.

He could only hope that the tiny form in the pram, Philip Francis Noakes, at just barely a month old would be so like his brother. They had not intended to reverse Fred's initials in his brother but it seemed perfect when he had realised as he signed his son's birth certificate. This time they had chosen names early, determined that Fred would know his brother or sister from the earliest opportunity; perhaps to instil in their eldest son how much they would like their children to be friends. It would have been Peter's greatest wish that what he had found growing up that his own sons could experience the companionship of brothers.

They had liked Catherine for a girl. Camilla had wanted her girl, the girl she would have nicknamed Kitty, for fear of feeling outnumbered. That said, the strength of love she had felt, and he had seen when she had held her second son in her arms truly dismissed anything that lingered.

Now, it was a month on and here he stood realising that his eldest child had stopped again, staring at a bluebird that had found a temporary resting place on the wing of a granite angel.

"Mummy's bird" he said, pointing.

"Yes" Peter said, remembering those times when she would walk Fred around the park pointing out the birds and flowers and how she would tell him the story of the bluebirds - how they were the first sign of spring; of new life. Peter looked at the sky briefly, remembering how she would sing to their son and how the most fulfilling days of fatherhood was hearing her with him.

_"Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly"_

"Leave him in peace" Peter said, suddenly regretting the tone of his voice as it cracked. "Come on".

The boy tore his eyes away, stealing glances back as the bird hopped away. How he could see himself in the boy; the only remnant of his mother being the dark chestnut hair that shone even in the chill of this Spring day. Everything else about Fred was Noakes. Their second boy was the self same - born with the shock of dark hair and the bluest eyes he had ever seen, making his entrance in the middle of the sitting room one Friday afternoon.

She had screamed for him and before either of them knew where they were she was talking him through, with gritted teeth and short breaths, delivering their child. The planned operation, for a week hence to deliver the child to prevent the maelstrom happening again, flew out of the window. The boy was not prepared to wait and as she cradled him in her arms and as Peter held them both, all three parties in stunned silence at the precipitous birth, _it happened again_. He had seen her eyes rock in her head and thankful he had already telephoned the Sisters, she had slumped, a tide of crimson saturating her dress as her distressed and struggling body gave way. The rush to hospital again, a chapter closing with two boys and no more to be.

Peter pressed the brake on the pram with his foot, the creak bringing him back to his presence. For some reason Fred knew where he was and he reached up and held the handle of the pram, seeing his father lift the small form of his brother wrapped in white blankets from within it.

"Now be careful" Peter said, taking the small hand, the sleeping bundle cradled in his other arm.

Between the three they tiptoed through the grass to the far side of the graveyard under a cherry tree with its pink petals just finding their bloom.

The ground was dry and carefully Peter knelt, his eldest son following suit studying his father's every move. Even for his three years Fred knew this was a place to be quiet, where he could only speak in whispers and he was not to shout or complain. Peter studied the inscription, tracing a finger around the gold lettering of the name transcribed there.

_"Beloved" _

_"Greatly missed"_

They were not words to describe the loss; they were too weak and simple. If he had his way there would be tomes written on that stone displaying to all who came by how much this person meant to him. Gently he turned the baby around so he faced the stone.

"I did tell you I would bring him" he whispered. "Can you see how big he is getting?"

To his side his other son had crept over, a small arm wrapped around his father's neck. His presence; the 'little radiator' that his mother had called him, touched his brother's forehead gently.

"Philp" Fred offered, still not quite being able to get his tongue around his brother's name, always missing the last vowel.

"Yes" Peter replied, weariness clear in his voice. "Philip". The baby wriggled, feeling his elder sibling's cold hand, Peter immediately cursing himself that he had forgotten Fred's gloves. He felt his son's head rest just on his shoulder. This was peace; these days this past month when he would return from a shift and Fred would bound into the sitting room having escaped whoever might have been minding him, and he would feel this unequivocal love as he burrowed into his Dad's arms. It had often shocked him that this little boy could trust him out of instinct and would place his life in his hands. Camilla had brought them both into the world, both his boys, and he would be on his knees in gratitude for the rest of his life for what she had sacrificed to do so.

"Phi..lp" he tried again. "Philp's here"

"Yes he is" Peter replied. "Your uncle Philip is here. I told him I would bring your baby brother here to see him, didn't I?"

He saw an earnest nod.

"Daddy's brother" his son offered as he pointed at the gravestone, before he paused, see a touch of light wander across his son's face. "Can we bring Mummy next time?"

"Of course" he replied. "When she is better of course we will".


End file.
